


Tasting the Stars

by ineffablebadger



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Communication, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, M/M, Self-indulgent fluff, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, it's just soft, talking it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29007537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablebadger/pseuds/ineffablebadger
Summary: “You saved my books for no other reason except kindness, darling, and it all made sense to me. Every time you’d saved me or done something nice for me, it was an act of devotion. I was certain of it. That you were in love with me and that the feeling was mutual.”Aziraphale and Crowley discuss when they knew they were in love with one another. Following the demon's revelation that he has been in love with the angel from the very beginning, Aziraphale asks for a chance to revisit their past and say what he never had the chance to.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 103





	Tasting the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heavenlypears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenlypears/gifts).



> This is a fic for Kale aka HeavenlyPears. Sorry for (probably) making you cry on your birthday. Thank you for being a friend and inspiring me. 
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful Caspian (aka [CaspiantheGeek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicGeek/pseuds/CaspianTheGeek)). All remaining mistakes mine.

Several weeks had passed since the Armageddon-that-wasn’t. Aziraphale and Crowley were beginning to settle into the routine of their new life together. Everything and nothing had changed between them at once when Aziraphale threaded his fingers through Crowley’s upturned hand during their dinner at the Ritz. When they kissed afterwards, Aziraphale understood for the first time what Dom Perignon had said when he first tasted champagne.1

They still ate dinner together, went to the theatre, and regularly drunk enough alcohol to incapacitate an adult elephant. Crowley spent hours in the back room of Aziraphale’s bookshop, engaging the angel in intense philosophical discussions, scrolling through Twitter on his phone, or otherwise making a nuisance of himself. Accidental brushes of the hand became intentional and were no longer met with nervous laughter.2

On one such lazy afternoon Crowley was spread out across the sofa, a vision of impossible posture and sprawling limbs. Aziraphale sat next to him, his posture entirely correct, reading a William Blake anthology. After Crowley swung his legs around to lay in Aziraphale’s lap, the angel moved his hand to idly play with his partner’s hair. They both let out a contented sigh.

"‘Ziraphale?” Crowley yawned.

“Yes, dear?”

“When did you fall in love with me?” Crowley replied as nonchalantly as he could manage. 

Aziraphale put a bookmark in his well-worn volume, put it to rest on a haphazard pile of books behind the sofa, and looked down at Crowley. His pale blue eyes sparkled as they scanned the demon’s face.

“I realised that I fell in love with you on May 10th, 1941. You looked so dashing, hopping–” Crowley scowled “–hopping down the aisle of St. Dunstan-in-the-East.”

“Afterwards, when you pulled my books from Harmony’s hand, I did what I’d always done. I tried to justify to myself why you’d saved me - saved my books. I searched for an ulterior motive, some explanation, but there was none. Aside from the obvious”

Aziraphale paused, sucking in a breath.

“You saved my books for no other reason except kindness, darling, and it all made sense to me. Every time you’d saved me or done something nice for me, it was an act of devotion. I was certain of it. That you were in love with me and that the feeling was mutual.” 

Crowley blinked under the intensity of Aziraphale’s gaze. 

“I was so desperate to do something to show you how I felt. To repay you a modicum of the kindness you've shown me over centuries. I wanted to tell you, too. Desperately. To pull you close and confess and never let you go.”

“I did think something was off when I drove you home," Crowley admitted. 

“I feared if I opened my mouth I’d doom us both.” 

“I was doomed–” Crowley was cut off by an angelic scowl. “We’re out of the woods now. The Almighty Herself couldn’t keep us apart.” As Crowley said those words, Aziraphale pursed his lips slightly. It’s hard to unlearn the thoughts of six thousand years. 

“When did you fall in love with me?” Aziraphale whispered. 

“Eden, obviously.” Crowley couldn’t quite shrug in his current position but he might as well have. 

Aziraphale opened his eyes wide, his hand reaching to clasp Crowley’s. This revelation barreled into him with the force of a freight train. 

“Eden? My dear boy, you’ve loved me since _Eden_?”

“Yeah,” Crowley swallowed. “You were different from the others. You did what was _good,_ not just what was _right._ You thought for yourself.”

“Your calves are also very nice,” the demon added with a chuckle, to which Aziraphale rolled his eyes before a serious expression returned to his face.

“I’m so very sorry, Crowley.”

“For what?”

“For pushing you away for six thousand years.”

“I knew, y’know?” Crowley said after a moment of silence.

“You knew?”

“The holy water. You gave me what I needed and put yourself at risk to help me. It was a pretty clear message,” Crowley murmured, exhaling heavily. 

“Yes, I suppose it was.”

“‘N it saved my life, in the end.”

Moisture was beginning to pool at the corner of Aziraphale’s eyes, and he reached down to hold Crowley’s cheeks in his hands, covering his face as if he thought his tears were holy water that might damage his demon.

“Crowley, will you let me do something for you?”

“Mhm?”

“Will you let me tell you what I wanted to say, each time I walked away from you?”

Crowley sat up slowly, sliding his feet into his snakeskin boots as he did so. He looked nervous, but Aziraphale was sure that he would do anything he asked of him. 

"Tell me where you want to go.”

* * *

Crowley opened the passenger door of his Bentley for Aziraphale, who climbed into his designated seat without a word. 

“Where to?”

“St James’ Park," Aziraphale said firmly. 

Neither spoke as Crowley navigated the streets of central London. Aziraphale didn’t even scold Crowley for narrowly avoiding a rickshaw full of tourists as they drove through Piccadilly. It took a while for Crowley to find a parking space, but eventually the Bentley found a place to park, legal or not.3

The demon reached out to hold Aziraphale’s hand as they walked, squeezing it reassuringly. Deep down, Aziraphale knew that nothing he could say today could erase the pain of the time they had spent loving one another from a distance. However, stubborn as he was, he was determined to try.

Aziraphale followed the familiar pathways of St James’ Park, hand in hand with Crowley, until he came to a stop by their favoured duck pond. Beside him, Crowley was still, his body tense and his posture rigid. Aziraphale wondered whether, had it been in private, Crowley would have removed his sunglasses for this conversation. 

“Crowley–” Aziraphale began nervously. 

“Yes, Angel?” Crowley said, his voice faltering as he interrupted. 

“In 1862, you asked me for a favour. Perhaps the first time in our relationship you’d asked me to do something for you.” 

“You did plenty for me, dove.”

“Under the terms of Arrangement, yes, but this was personal.”

“Yeah…”

“My response pushed you away,” Aziraphale continued, wringing his hands together as he spoke. 

"I suppose it was eighty years until we saw each other again," Crowley responded. 

“Seventy-eight years, one month, and thirteen days.” Aziraphale corrected softly.

The sound of a pelican, one of the park’s more conspicuous residents, flying close by was the only thing that broke up the tense silence. Aziraphale had indeed counted every single one of those days until he saw Crowley again. He felt each one, despite his immortality. 

"Will you allow me to tell you what I really wanted to say to you that day?”

A quiet affirmative was all that left Crowley’s lips in response. 

“I want nothing more than to give you what you need. To do this one favour for you. Goodness knows you’ve done more than enough favours for me. I know you wouldn’t dare ask such a thing of me unless it was truly important. I may be selfish and greedy and love-sick but I _cannot_ in good conscience give you what you ask of me. You mean far too much to me for me to let you put yourself in that much danger. Crowley, I cannot lose you– be responsible for losing you.”

"You are the most precious thing in the world to me." 

“Angel I–” Crowley choked out.

Aziraphale took a step forward and silently enveloped Crowley in a hug, cradling him in his embrace. The Principality was protective by nature, right to his core, and wished to be able to spare his demon from the pain of their shared history just as surely as he’d hoped to protect him from destruction by holy water.

“It was never for me, Aziraphale. I wouldn’t leave you," Crowley murmured into Aziraphale’s shoulder.

The angel pulled Crowley closer then, nearly crushing him, as if he were trying to weather the storm of emotions by clinging to a rock. They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each others arms, until eventually Aziraphale’s rapid breathing slowed and he pulled away. 

“Will you take me to the bandstand, darling?”

“Angel...That’s not...you don’t need to…”

“Please?”

“If that’s where you want to go, I’ll take you. Anywhere.” Crowley swallowed. 

* * *

The early autumn sun was beginning to set as they approached the familiar bandstand in Battersea Park. The scene of their worst argument in millennia. This time, instead of walking in from opposite directions, they arrived together. Hand in hand.

“The third alternative rendezvous...” Aziraphale began.

“Yup.”

“Are you all right, darling?”

“It’s– This is hard Aziraphale. This was where you basically broke up with me. It’s difficult not to think about losing you.”

“I’m right here,” Aziraphale brought Crowley’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

“Say what you need to,” Crowley said softly. 

"You are not unforgivable. I am made better every day by your presence. By your love. You've spent six thousand years showing me exactly who you are, and I forgive you for whatever Hell made you do. I see you, good and bad, and I love every part of you. I love the kind parts, the soft parts– Even the evil parts.”

Aziraphale swallowed.

“As tempting as your offer is, we cannot go off together. You belong with me, here, on Earth. There’s only one side I want to be on in the upcoming war and that’s on _our_ side. Heaven be damned…” The angel winced and stopped speaking for a moment before regaining his resolve.

"Heaven be damned I’ll fight beside you to the end to save our home and everyone on it. Please. Stay with me. Help me.”

"Aziraphale I– I'd–" Crowley floundered for a moment as Aziraphale watched him patiently.

"I'd have moved Hell and Earth to stay with you," He continued.

"And you did, darling. Heaven too."

"I suppose so, and you found your way back to me. In the end."

"It wasn't a bad Doomsday, all things considered."

"Angel...did you...really?"

"Just trying to alleviate the tension."

Crowley chuckled, exhaling heavily as he did, and took a step forward to place a gentle kiss on Aziraphale's forehead. 

"I think we just have one more stop," Crowley said as he stepped away. 

"Right you are, and it's on the way back home."

* * *

Aziraphale once again took up his position in the passenger seat of the Bentley. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Crowley’s cheek and told him to park a couple of streets over from the bookshop, on the street where he’d been parked when they exchanged the holy water. 

Aziraphale shifted nervously in his seat as Crowley put on the handbrake, and they turned to face one another. After a moment, Crowley bought his hand up to his face to take off his sunglasses. His amber eyes pierced through Aziraphale as he watched him, his face still and serious. 

"Aziraphale, you gave me what I asked for here."

"I know but I–" Aziraphale began.

"You saved my life," Crowley interjected. 

"Then if I save it twice more, we'll be even"

"I'm not counting."

The angel reached across the small space in the car, clasping Crowley's hands in his own, and looked at him intently. 

"I also told you that you go too fast for me."

"You _have_ always hated my driving."

"Don't be obtuse," Aziraphale snapped, without any bite, pausing for a moment to compose his thoughts. "You never went _too fast_ for me. Not once did you pressure me. You’ve always given me more patience than I deserve."

"I'd have given you longer, if you needed it,” Crowley responded softly with a reassuring smile. 

"What I wanted to say is this– I'm giving you this flask because I trust you implicitly. I am sorry for keeping you waiting for so long for something you clearly want– need desperately. Please be safe, because I cannot bear to lose you. It's in a tartan thermos to ensure that you remember me.”

“I want nothing more than for us to be together. To go for a picnic, dine at the Ritz. It’s not safe– for either of us. Crowley they would _destroy_ you if they found out how I truly feel about you. Wait for me. Please. Just for a little bit longer, my love, I’ll be yours as soon as I find a way to keep you safe.”

By the time Aziraphale finished his speech, Crowley was slumped against the steering wheel. He was crying, low sobs that left his chest heaving and forced a small, strangled noise from deep in his throat. All the emotion of the previous hours finally seemed to be catching up with him, leaving his body in a steady stream. 

"I'm here, darling, I've got you,” Aziraphale said softly as he rubbed his hand across Crowley’s back.

The angel leaned over to wrap an arm around his back and steady him. It took a few minutes, but eventually Aziraphale felt Crowley's body still underneath him and the noises of his crying came to an end. 

"I know I just– thank you," Crowley sniffed.

"For what?"

"Loving me."

"I don't need any thanks for loving you." 

Aziraphale moved to allow Crowley to sit up, and dabbed away the tears on his cheeks with a handkerchief. His movements were slow, reverential. It was not often Crowley allowed Aziraphale to take care of him, not since he tended to his burned feet after the church, and the angel savoured being able to cherish his demon.

"You said love-sick," Crowley mumbled.

"Pardon, my darling?"

"In St James' Park. You used the word love-sick."

"Yes...I suppose I did."

"You loved me before St. Dunstan-in-the-East?"

"I said I _realised_ that I loved you when you saved me from those awful people."

"Right."

"I was in love with you before then. A long time before then,” Aziraphale said with a resolute nod of his head as he reached out for Crowley’s hands.

"When?" Crowley whispered. 

"I...suppose if I think about it. It was Golgotha."

"Golgotha? Bloody _Golgotha_?" Crowley responded with a startled laugh.

"You were more kind than anyone in Heaven. Any of the angels." 

"M'not–" Crowley started.

"What else was showing a young man all the kingdoms of the world except kindness?" Aziraphale interrupted.

In response Crowley made an unintelligible sound of protest, presumably trying to come up with an excuse for that particular act of kindness and falling short.

"I hope you can forgive me for...for keeping you waiting."

"Nothing to forgive, Angel. I wanted something else, but what we had was always...nice."

"It was, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, I made the most of what I could get. At first I was just grateful not to have been smote by a vengeful angel on sight."

"Well, you _were_ smitten," Aziraphale responded with a light chuckle, wiggling in the seat as he did so.

"Mmm. I still am."

Crowley leaned forward, closing the small distance between them that was all the Bentley allowed, and kissed Aziraphale. Not for the first time, Aziraphale was floored by the tenderness of Crowley’s kiss as he crushed their lips together. It had been weeks, now, since they’d drunk champagne together but Aziraphale still tasted the stars on his tongue as they kissed.

* * *

**Footnotes**

  1. The quote “come quickly, I am tasting the stars” and the monk’s invention of sparkling champagne itself, like many similar myths throughout history, was intended to improve the reputation of the church. This was of little consequence to Aziraphale, as he kissed the champagne from Crowley’s lips, he tasted the stars regardless. [ ▲ ]
  2. Well, most of the time they weren’t met with nervous laughter. Crowley was taking a little while to adjust to the new, touchy-feely aspects of their relationship. [ ▲ ]
  3. Not. [ ▲ ]




End file.
